


Rose of Gaul

by schwertlilie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Sex, Hetalia Kink Meme, Human Names, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwertlilie/pseuds/schwertlilie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know the rose that acts as a censor for France's genitals in canon? What if he doesn't have a penis, just that rose? And England discovered this as he prepared to give Francis head?</p><p>(Or, the logical extrapolation of canon that you never wanted.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose of Gaul

"Shut up, Francis."

"I'm not the one who groped my ass and got us removed from the bar."

"It has to be your fault we're on your couch," Arthur growled into his collarbone. Honestly, why couldn't the wine-bastard see? Arthur was the drunk one, so it was obviously Francis who'd planned all of this.

Francis dragged his fingers up Arthur's back, bringing his shirt with them. "Really, Arthur. I'm on the couch, and you're on top of me. I thought you were more observant."

"I said shut up." And to underscore his point - it'd always worked on Spain - he reached down to palm Francis' cock through his pants. Then he blinked, raised his mouth from France's skin, and said very, very slowly, "You don't have a penis."

Francis' expression closed off. "I believed you knew."

"Lemme see."

He snorted and allowed Arthur to pull down his pants, but didn't help beyond lifting his hips.

Arthur looked at the rose, its petals closing slowly, and asked what seemed the most important question: "How do you take a piss?"

"Carefully." Arthur looked up to see Francis watching him watching Francis, eyes missing their usual smile lines. "You've seen me nude before."

"I thought it was an artistic statement or some such. God knows you've done stupider things." He wasn't drunk enough to deal with this. Or maybe.. maybe he was just drunk enough. He ran his fingers down Francis' hip, across his rose, and smiled when his stomach muscles tightened. "Anything I should keep in mind?"

Francis blinked. Then he tugged Arthur's hair with something like affection. "No teeth, s'il te plaît."

"I could figure that much out myself, frog." He ruffled Francis' petals. It didn't look or feel very different from the roses he grew in his garden at home - a doubled bloom with rounded edges, the layers of petals overlapping. He shifted his hand, nestling the flower between his thumb and forefinger, and scooted his body down the couch so his mouth was even with Francis' hips. "Good?"

Francis leaned back against the arm of the couch. "You haven't done anything yet, mon cher."

Arthur chuckled, breath puffing across the petals. "Well then." He ran the pad of his thumb up and down the underside of a petal, felt Francis' pulse jump in the vein. "Shall we fix that?" He brought his free hand up, dragged his finger around and through the flower, circling into the centre and out again. The petals felt like.. petals as they opened under his touch, but warmer, and soft; the vein along their backs grew more prominent the further in he moved. His eyes flicked up Francis' body, watched the way his breath hitched when Arthur brushed the stamens.

He caught Francis' gaze, held it as he lowered his head and drew his tongue along the edge of a petal.

"Fuck, _Arthur_."

Oh, he could get used that tone of voice, the way Francis' hands made fists against the upholstery. So he did it again, tracing around the edges of Francis' flower with his tongue, moving the hand cupping the blossom up and down. It tasted a little sweet, but not musky or sour - really, like a rose. With a few circuits Francis was flushed and panting; so Arthur switched from circling to working his tongue up one side of a petal, down the other, up the next as he worked his way to the centre and back, never quite touching the stamens. Francis moved a hand to his lips, bit his knuckle when Arthur sucked a petal into his mouth.

Arthur hummed a question - was this working for Francis? - and Francis moaned around his finger. Which meant the only logical thing to do was to seal his mouth around more petals, to stroke them with his tongue while humming Britpop. And he wasn't doing it because he wanted to watch the frog, to make him happy. Heaven forbid. No, he was doing this because it was fucking hilarious to watch Francis writhe and try to hold back his moans. And he was drunk. He was still drunk, right? Right.

"Arthur- I need-"

He let Francis gently tug him into place, over the centre of the flower. The first flick of his tongue was worth having his hair pulled, with the way that Francis arched into him, petals brushing his nose and chin. He settled into a slow rhythm, tongue swirling over the raised stigmas, hands pressing Francis' hips back against the seat cushion. Francis' fingers curled and uncurled against his scalp, nonsense French mixing in with his moans - something about butterflies. Arthur kept himself to the top of Francis' stamens, not pushing down but around.

Francis made a choked noise. "Arthur, je-" Then he shuddered; fell limp against the couch. There wasn't a rush of liquid; instead, it pooled in the centre of the rose, sweet and light where it touched Arthur's lips.

Arthur sat back on his heels, waiting for Francis catch his breath. And if he licked his lips while he watched Francis' flower close, sepal leaves folding protectively over the petals, he'd never admit it.

Instead, when Francis' gaze turned to him, focused, he dropped his chin to his hand. "So are we going to your bedroom, or screwing here?"

"Oui, oui." Francis kicked off his pants, stretched. Arthur pretended he didn't notice. "Mais, you truly are a closet pervert. Giving head to a rose, of all things."

"If you don't get into bed, now, I'm going to raid your liquor cabinet."

"The horror!" But he threw a leer over his shoulder as he sashayed toward the hallway.

"Still your fault," Arthur muttered as he followed.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the [Hetalia Kink Meme](http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/74628.html?thread=448047236#cmt448047236), March 2010. Title is a pun on [gallica roses](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosa_gallica), which are native to central & south-east Europe and sort of match the roses used for France's censor-bar.


End file.
